A complex poem, a love/anti-love poem and an "everyone (blank)" poem.
London Complex
The funny thing
About complexes
Is that they never
Actually are:
All matching buildings,
Open-plan, bright and
Shiny; more windows
Than walls; laid out in
Grids for easier
Navigation. Though
The things that they house
May be different,
It's often hard to
Tell which one is which.
The Antidote
"An antidote," he said, "to man's greatest
Problem. Finally an end to all
Irrationality, to misery,
Loneliness and misplaced loyalty.
Gone are the days of unpredictable
Behaviour. This..." he tapped the bottle, "is the
Beginning of perfection." "What is it?"
I asked, curious. He grinned. "Anti-love."
Aftershock
"Everyone out!"
A gunshot, a shout
Some feeling, a touch...
I don't remember much.
She slides away into that dreamy deep sleep,
Away from the nightmares that constantly creep
Into each waking moment. She must let go.
What happened? Who is she? She no longer knows.
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